Toss and Turn
by Wishing Well's Remorse
Summary: Draco Malfoy has dreams. Warning: Implied homosexuality or obsession, however you want to look at it , could be considered Slashy goodness. Oneshot.


**A/N: **Some of you may have known my previous works under 'Zephyr and an Angyl', and I am proud to say that that work is no longer existing. My first work under 'Wishing Well's Remorse' is a short piece on Draco's dreams. It's finished- there's no more coming. Hopefully there will be a chapter fiction in the near future, but school and its drama department has me busy!

Thanks to Not Hardly, the best Beta to walk the streets of whatever the hell city she's from.

~*~

Sweat poured from Draco's forehead as he wrestled with his linen sheets. His thin, angular frame tossed and turned as his brow wrinkled with something that may have been disgust- Blaise couldn't tell as he watched his friend fight yet another nightmare.

It had started happening months ago. Six, maybe. Draco would shout, and Blaise would jump to his aide and wake him from his terror. But after a while, the screams had ceased. Draco, however, looked still as if he got little to no sleep, and Blaise had taken to keeping a night vigil at the side of his friend's bed. It was on one such night, when the dreams were particularly bad, when Draco had let a name slip from his lips in the frenzy of shouts.

"Harry!" He had yelped, clutching his coverlet so hard his knuckles turned white.

From then on, Draco dreamed of Harry regularly. And it was nights like tonight that made Blaise wonder whether it was quite worth it to keep the vigil. Draco was sweaty and distressed, and his eyes were screwed shut- but he wasn't shouting anymore. He was no longer sleep mumbling, or crying, or groaning. He just said 'Harry' a few times during his obvious discomfort and went back to a silent slumber.

Blaise yawned, stretched, and lay down on his own bed, which felt like feather down compared to the wicker chair he had been sitting in. Settling between the blankets, he tried not to think of what role Harry played in Draco's dreams.

~*~

Draco sat up jerkily, leaning on his elbow. He found himself sweaty, unrested, and up before the crack of dawn. This was the fourth time that Potter, of all people,_Potter,_ had entered his dreams- and this was the most demure of them all. Somewhere beyond Draco's 'Slytherin Green' curtains, Crabbe was snoring loudly, wuffling in ways that made Draco wish to gag, and Zabini was muttering something in his sleep about 'insufferable red headed chasers'. Well, he most certainly was not speaking of Ron, which left one Weasel in the entire castle.

And it wasn't a Weasel, it was a Weaselette.

Suddenly, he doubted he was the only one dreaming of the Gryffindor Four.

Pulling his troublesome curtains aside, he stumbled out of bed and cast a quick 'Lumos' to find his way to the bathroom in the dark. When he entered the small, stone-floored room, he lit all the lights with a quick flick of his wrist and looked in the mirror balefully. His hair flopped listlessly into his eyes, emphasizing the dark shadows under them. He wiped the blond strands away, staring at his hollow cheeks. His lips were scrutinized as well- Draco had not realized how much he had bitten them in his sleep. They were chapped and bruised from where he had bitten at them subconsciously.

It suddenly occurred to him that he looked tired.

Damn Potter and his stupid ability to make Draco an insomniac.

He splashed cold water on his face as his friends in the dormitory began to stir. Too soon, Crabbe was banging loudly on the door, demanding to be let in, and Blaise was muttering something about 'Goddamn dreams again'. Draco sighed dramatically and forged his way past Crabbe in order to get his clothes and make his tired way to the Prefect's bathroom.

He groped about for a towel in his color-coded drawer, trying not to yawn. If he yawned, they would know he was barely sleeping. If they knew that, they would have him take a Dreamless Sleep potion, and he didn't want to lose his dreams, ever. Even if it meant three hours of deep sleep each night, there were still five of wonderful, fantastic ones including Potter.

"You were talking again," Blaise murmured from across the room. Initially, Draco had been concerned about Zabini, but the boy held true to the Slytherin code: "Help not those who do not desire. Instead, bring efforts into freeing those in want of freedom."

"Was I?" Draco asked, tiredly. He wasn't surprised. Last night's dream had been particularly... interesting, and involved quite a lot of Harry.

"Yes. You said his name more times than I care to count."

"Ah."

"Pansy says that I should tell him what's going on."

Draco found a towel and draped it over his arm, glaring at Zabini disgustedly. "You wouldn't." Blaise sadly placed a hand on Draco's forearm, but the other boy winced and wrenched it away.

"Sometimes I wonder," Blaise called as Draco left the dorm room, "whether Pansy is right, and you're really just afraid of yourself." Draco's back disappeared around the corner.

~*~

**FIN**


End file.
